


Hope

by Menolly



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sick!Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menolly/pseuds/Menolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not going to die today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Title:** Hope  
 **Characters:** House/Wilson  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Spoilers:** For 8.20 - Post Mortem  
 **Words:** Approx. 600  
 **Summary:** He's not going to die today.

 

Wilson thought it was ironic that a doctor with terminal cancer was working in a hospice, helping to ease other people's suffering. House thought it was _moronic_ , an opinion he expressed loudly and often. Wilson would just smile and tell House, again, that he'd finally decided that there was nothing wrong with looking after other people, and that helping them helped him. House would grumble and sulk, and then a little later would chuck a medical journal at him with an article about the latest advancements in the care of people with late stage cancer.

When he couldn't work, on the bad days, Wilson would sit outside, and stare at the ocean. The weather here was a lot warmer, and the sun had healing properties, for body and soul, and watching the waves calmed his mind. Sometimes House would join him, bringing his laptop and his phone because his active mind could never be still. Sometimes, on the really bad days he'd bring out his guitar and play softly. He'd scoff about the birds singing, and the waves crashing on the store, but the lines of pain on his own face would relax slightly and he'd let Wilson lean up against him, on the bench seat, while he played. Wilson would fall asleep to the sounds of gentle chords and a soft voice singing a soulful melody.

There were other people in their lives now, Wilson had made sure of that. They came for dinner, or poker, or just a cup of coffee and a chat. Sometimes House would join them, sometimes he'd stay away, in no mood for human company. House's own students came over regularly, because he couldn't always go to the hospital, sometimes Wilson needed him here. They were young, and bright, full of life, and Wilson knew that they would be there, when they were needed. House wouldn't have to stand alone. There'd be people there, with food, and comfort, and shared memories.

He hadn't made House promise to stay, although he wanted to. He couldn't ask him to make a promise that could destroy him. House would find life, or death, on his own. Wilson could only offer a path, it would be there if House could bring himself to take it. If not, well he wouldn't condemn him for that. They didn't talk about it, House ducked and weaved around the subject, never wanting to face the truth and Wilson let him evade. They both lived in the moment now, the past a painful road behind them, the future a heavy fog. Wilson had decided to fight, until he couldn't, and to live, until that was taken.

At night they would lie together, House's arms wrapped around him, holding him so he didn't slip away during the night. Wilson would whisper his fears, and his hopes. House would listen when it was important, and mock when it wasn't. Sometimes they wouldn't talk, and afterwards they would lie in each other's embrace, feel the other's heartbeat and know that they were both still here, together, and it was enough.

Each morning Wilson would wake and see the sun's rays creeping around the bedroom, bringing a new day, and fresh hope. He would smile, and say to himself, 'not yet'.

One day it would be over, but not today.


End file.
